


Moments on Canvas

by A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin



Series: Will We Be Stuck Like This Forever? [10]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anders is a painter, Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin/pseuds/A_God_A_Vampire_And_Two_Heirs_Of_Durin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betrothal portraits are infinitely more awkward when the man you’re in love with is standing behind the easel instead of in front of it beside you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctobersLily510](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctobersLily510/gifts), [FiliKiliThorinForever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/gifts).



> Both OctobersLily510 and FiliKiliThorinForever gave me Victorian prompts, but this is actually set in the early 1830s, so a few years before Victoria became queen, for the purpose of fitting the timeline, and I've also adapted the prompts slightly, I hope that this is still enjoyable :)
> 
> I had to split this into two parts because of its length, so the second part should be up later today so you don't have to wait too long :)

John Mitchell, eldest son of Sir Edward Mitchell, a leading politician, was decidedly unhappy, frustrated, and angry

“I don’t know why you aren’t at least a little grateful,” his mother remarked from her seat by the fireplace, “Lord Aldworth’s daughter is a respectable girl, and her family have money, John. You could at least _thank_ your father for this.”

Mitchell curled his hands into fists behind his back.

“But I don’t want to get married,” he said stubbornly, a sentence which he had been saying many times over the last few weeks, “Can’t we at least wait another couple of years?”

“Nonsense,” his father cut in, “You’re nearly twenty-six, it’s time you settled down and took on some responsibilities. When I was your age, your mother and I had already been married for two years.”

“Well, maybe I haven’t found the right person yet.”

“What silly notion have you got into your head now? You won’t find another girl like Emily Aldworth, my boy. There’s no point in delaying this.”

Mitchell took a deep breath to calm himself. The thing was, if he’d wanted to get married then he was sure that Emily would have been perfect, but he just wasn’t in _love_ with her in any way.

“And so her father has decided to have a portrait commissioned of the two of you,” Sir Edward was still talking. “Consider it a wedding present of sorts. Lord Aldworth has hired the painter and you’re to be painted in that grand study of his. Marvellous painter, he says, and I trust his judgement. Fellow named…” He trailed away. “It seems to have escaped me. Do you remember?” He turned to look at his wife, who just gave him a blank stare in return.

“You never told me anything about him,” she replied coldly, adjusting her skirts as though she could not have cared any less.

Mitchell had to resist the urge to groan in frustration. His parents’ marriage was full of moments like the current one, where his father forgot that his mother existed, and his mother responded by bitingly reminding him. It was why he was so set on finding someone that he actually loved, so that he didn’t have to suffer the same fate. Though he knew already the name of the only person he _could_ love, and he doubted that his parents would ever approve of _that_ match.

Sir Edward passed over his wife’s comment as though she had not spoken.

“You’ll begin the sitting tomorrow,” he turned back to his son, “Parks will have the carriage ready for you at nine, make sure that you wear your best.”

“I can walk,” Mitchell protested hurriedly, “I’d prefer to walk.”

“Not in your best, you don’t,” his father let out a short bark of laughter as though he’d actually been telling a joke. “Now, you’ll go with a grateful smile on your face, and you’ll thank Lord Aldworth for his kindness. Show him that you’ll make a good husband for his daughter, because if you let this slip through your fingers, my boy, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Mitchell could guess though. It would probably be somewhere on the spectrum of entire disownment in favour of his younger brother or the forcible withdrawal from society as his parents put him on house arrest.

So he smiled, said his thank you, and then hurried away.

* * *

The next morning, Mitchell was ready to leave by quarter to nine, and as he came down the stairs to wait in the hallway, he found a figure lurking in wait for him in the doorway to the front parlour: his brother, Henry Mitchell, aged sixteen, who constantly held the belief that he knew absolutely everything and had the right to be smug about it.

“I hear that there’s been a commission for a painting of you and the Aldworth girl,” Henry said, leaning on the doorframe casually as he spoke, his eyes watching Mitchell’s reaction carefully.

“Yes,” the elder replied shortly, “Lord Aldworth hired the painter and we’re to be painted in his study. And don’t be so disrespectful, she’s Miss Aldworth to you.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

“I can call her what I want,” he said, “It’s not like you’re going to marry her, and once you ruin this, it’s hardly likely that we’ll ever see her again.”

Mitchell’s expression darkened. His brother’s tone angered him, and he may not have been in love with Emily Aldworth, but she was a friend and he would not let Henry get away with speaking about her in that way. He picked up his father’s cane by the door and pointed it in his brother’s direction, advancing on him until he was pressed against the wall.

“Don’t you dare speak about any woman like that,” he said warningly, “I pity the girl who is forced to marry you.”

Henry sneered.

“At least I actually want a _wife_ ,” he snapped, before turning on his heel and heading from the grand staircase.

A cold feeling of concern washed over Mitchell where he still stood in the hallway, the cane clutched in his hand. Surely his brother could not know? Surely not.

He shook his head to clear it and decided that it was time for him to go and meet Parks outside.

* * *

Emily Aldworth and her father met him outside on the steps, greeting him quickly before ushering him away to the study.

“Everything is all ready to begin,” Lord Aldworth said as he pushed the door open and Mitchell caught a glimpse of a mess of blonde hair. “Ah, Mr Johnson, the rest of your sitting is here, this is Mr John Mitchell, soon to be my son-in-law.”

Mr Johnson stepped out from behind the easel where he was setting up his supplies to shake Mitchell’s hand firmly, his eyes betraying only a hint of recognition.

Mitchell wondered whether he had already heard his name and had been preparing himself for this moment. He certainly hadn’t been ready, and he hoped that his sharp intake of breath had not been noticeable, though if the way that the blond gave his hand a firm squeeze was anything to go by, it had been audible.

There was tightness to the blond’s smile that Mitchell noticed as well, and he was suddenly struck with the realisation of how bad the situation must look. They’d always been adamant with each other that it seemed impossible to fall in love with anyone else, yet here he was, about to have a portrait painted with the woman who was supposed to become his wife. He wanted to follow the blond as he went back to his place behind the easel and tell him that it was an arranged marriage, that Emily was nothing more than a friend, but instead all he said was:

“So, where do you want us?”

“Over there, please,” the blond pointed to the chair set against the backdrop of the wide bay windows which looked out over the landscaped gardens that the Aldworths had despite living in the centre of London. “Miss Aldworth, if you could sit there, yes, just like that.” He carefully arranged Emily so that her hands fell lightly in her lap. “And just tilt your head up a little more, please. Perfect, thank you.”

And then he looked at Mitchell and the brunet was sure that all his blood had rushed to his face and he was blushing in spite of himself.

“And Mr Mitchell, wasn’t it?” the blond’s tone was casual despite the situation. “If you could stand behind the chair and look straight at me. That’s fine, now don’t move your head, just lift your hands and place them on the back of the chair, please.”

Clearly Mitchell failed to cooperate with that instruction because suddenly the blond sighed and crossed the room to adjust him.

“Don’t move, Miss Aldworth,” he said quickly, making sure that Emily kept her eyes fixed on the easel where he would be painting. “Just raise your hand to here, Mr Mitchell. No, don’t move your head as you do so.”

He sighed again and, in a moment of boldness with the assurance that Emily could not see him, he took Mitchell’s hand in his own and moved it himself. Then he reached up and tilted Mitchell’s chin carefully with one hand so that he looked straight ahead, allowing his fingers to brush along the line of the other man’s jaw as he did so.

Mitchell swallowed consciously at the feeling but the blond just grinned to himself.

Then, finally, he went back to his easel and began on the outlines of the figures, regularly glancing back to and from his subjects, hoping it wasn’t obvious that his eyes lingered on Mitchell’s form for far longer than necessary.

* * *

In the end, Mitchell and Emily sat for three hours, were whisked away for lunch, and then came back and sat for another three.

By the time it was announced that the sitting was over for the day, both of them were feeling tired and exhausted from doing nothing.

“I feel I need to lie down,” Emily said, standing up and stretching her arms out, “Which is ridiculous when I’ve been sitting down all day. Perhaps I ought to run laps of the garden and shock my father.” She headed for the door. “Well, Mother will be expecting me in the parlour. I’d best go. Shall I show you to the door, John?”

Mitchell, as much as he knew the proper answer should have been yes, declined.

“I have a question about the sitting for Mr Johnson,” he excused himself, “I will show myself out. I will see you tomorrow at the same time, will I not?”

“Of course,” Emily nodded, before turning to the blond. “Thank you, Mr Johnson, I will also see you tomorrow. I would stay to show you out too but Mother will not be pleased if I am not in the parlour in five minutes, perhaps John could show you out?”

“Of course,” Mitchell put in quickly, “I’ll do that.”

Emily smiled at them both and then left the room.

Anders let the door close before speaking in a low voice.

“She seems a nice girl.”

Mitchell sighed.

“Anders,” he said, “She’s a good friend but I’m hardly in love with her, and I doubt she has any romantic feelings for me. Our parents arranged this.”

The blond nodded thoughtfully but turned away to pack up his supplies instead of facing the brunet.

“It still doesn’t make it any easier for me,” he remarked, “I’m painting your _wedding_ portrait.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” Mitchell replied, “Watching you paint us for six hours and knowing that I can’t make conversation because I’ll give something away. What do you want me to do? Go to Emily’s father and say that I can’t marry his daughter because I’m in love with the painter he hired for our wedding portrait. Where would that get us? The gallows most likely!”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, John,” Anders hissed, “I was just shocked, that’s all. You know you’d be the same if you were in my position.”

Mitchell bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, “I don’t want us to fight. I didn’t want this to be how we met.”

“Would you have rather we’d met once you were married?”

“Anders! I’ve already told you that I don’t love her. I’ve been trying to find ways to delay the wedding. I wanted to find you beforehand.”

“So, you’ve found me. What happens now?”

Mitchell frowned in frustration.

“Anders, please,” he reached out a hand and tugged on the other man’s sleeve so that he was forced to turn around and face him. “I don’t want to fight you as well. Come, please understand, I will do everything I can to delay this wedding further and be with you instead. We’ll leave if we have to. I just have to make preparations for us to do so.”

Anders was silent but he didn’t fight the other man’s on his arm.

“Now, can I visit you tonight?” Mitchell’s tone was gentle now and pleading.

“You wouldn’t like my lodgings,” Anders’ sense of betrayal made him stubborn, “They’re nothing like you’re used to.”

Mitchell frowned.

“I don’t care if you live at the bottom of the Thames,” he said, “I want to visit you. So, will you give me the address?”

“Better than that,” Anders sighed, “I can take you there. Meet me on London Bridge tonight at seven, and don’t wear your best.”

“I didn’t plan too,” Mitchell chuckled at little and pulled the blond into his arms. “I’ll see you at seven, then.” He leaned down at place a gentle kiss on the end of the squirming blond’s nose.

“Stop that!” Anders tried in vain to shove the brunet away, “Someone could walk in at any moment. John! We’ve probably raised suspicions by taking such a long time anyway.”

“No one will catch us,” Mitchell grinned, stealing a proper kiss this time. “Just one more.”

Anders sighed heavily and buried his head into the fabric of Mitchell’s jacket for a moment before finally reciprocating.

Once they’d finally untangled themselves, Anders gathered up his art supplies, leaving the portrait itself in the study for the next day, and they headed for the front door together.

“Thank you for your work, Mr Johnson,” Mitchell said loudly for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, but then risked a quick wink in the blond’s direction before Parks came around the corner wondering aloud whether he needed to bring the carriage round.

Mitchell turned to face him.

“Yes, please, Parks,” he said, “I’d best get home.”

Parks nodded once and then turned sharply on his heels.

Mitchell glanced back to where Anders had been standing but the blond was long gone.

* * *

It was nearly half past six by the time that Mitchell had convinced his parents that he was going out and would not be back that night. He claimed that it was because he planned to go drinking and did not want to return home drunk. Fortunately, his father agreed, recounting tales of his own youth and deliberately overruling his wife’s opinions by claiming that Mitchell should go out and have some fun.

And so that was how Anders found him, standing on London Bridge in a suit which looked decidedly worse for wear, having made a supreme effort to avoid his brother for the entire evening.

“Are you ready then?” the blond called up from the steps, beckoning for the brunet to follow him from the bridge down into one of the darker alleys on the other side.

“Of course,” Mitchell replied, sensing the other man’s unease. “I do not care where you live, as long as we can be alone.”

“You may care when you see it,” Anders replied quickly, still hurrying ahead of him and not walking by his side. “I barely make enough to survive on, let alone find nice lodgings, and most of my money goes on decent art supplies and keeping up the impression that I don’t live in the gutter. This commission from Lord Aldworth is something I desperately need. I don’t even know how he saw any of my work in the first place.”

They took a right turn, then a left turn and then several more rights before Anders came to a halt before a building which seemed to stretch forever upwards, its blackened shadow staining the skyline. Despite his earlier words, Mitchell couldn’t help but start doubting whether it was really a safe place for them to be.

They were somewhere deep in Whitechapel, near where it met the Spitalfields Market, an area which Mitchell had always been taught to avoid. But he couldn’t afford to let the blond see his concerns. That would just upset him further and make him believe that the brunet had been lying to him. Instead, he swallowed nervously before following Anders up the rickety flight of stairs at the side of the building.

The other man’s room was about halfway up, sandwiched in between what sounded like several drunks below and a family with at least two if not more small children above. He’d been lucky enough to have just enough money to pay the rent for the room himself without having to find someone else to share it with. And now it meant that he had all the privacy he needed.

The interior of the room was brighter than Mitchell had expected considering the filth outside, with reasonably clean whitewashed walls and a brightly blanketed bed in one corner. There was a stove tucked under the window so that the smoke could escape, and a bucket of water beside it for washing and cleaning. Anders’ art supplies were deposited in and around a small wooden cabinet, although the blond reassured him that he either locked up or kept with him the more expensive items. There was an easel across from a makeshift platform of old wooden boxes, draped with several cloths, clearly made to hold whatever the subject of the painting was.

“The light’s not great in here for painting,” Anders remarked as he lit several candles and an oil lamp, “But I get by. Please, sit somewhere while I tidy this stuff away.”

Mitchell looked around the room for a chair but upon finding none realised that if he wanted to sit then he would have to choose Anders’ bed, an action which he would not have felt so awkward about had the blond not been acting so insistently odd about everything. Still, he couldn’t think of an alternative so he perched carefully on the edge of the blankets and waited for the other man to finish what he was doing.

When it became apparent that the blond was stalling and his careful ministrations with his art supplies were neither tidying them nor getting them out, Mitchell could not help himself from asking what on Earth was wrong between the two of them and what he could do about it.

“Anders, please, tell me what’s happened,” he begged, “Usually when we meet, we can’t help ourselves, but you’re repeatedly pulling away from me and I don’t know what I’ve done. Yes, the timing of our meeting was not opportune and I understand that it scared you a little but I have tried to explain.”

“Will you sit for me again?” Anders asked suddenly instead.

Mitchell frowned.

“Anders…”

“No, please. Just do this for me. I’ll feel much more comfortable talking while I’m painting, I promise.”

The brunet sighed but knew that he would comply regardless; he’d never been able to deny Anders anything, and he wanted to know what was wrong.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, looking towards the draped platform in the centre of the room.

Anders followed his gaze before shaking his head.

“Stay on the bed,” he decided, crossing the room until he stood in front of the other man. “And take off your clothes.”

“What?” Mitchell looked at him wide-eyed, “Why do you want me to do that?”

“I swear this painting will be just for me,” Anders pleaded, “I’ll explain everything soon, honest I will.”

Mitchell sighed but stripped his clothes off quickly anyway, finally stretching himself out on the bed and grimacing a little at how scratchy the blanket felt against his skin.

Meanwhile, Anders set himself up behind the easel, sketching the brunet’s outlines until he had found the perfect pose.

“Stay like that,” he said, and Mitchell froze, trying not to move too much as he went to speak.

“So, will you tell me what’s going on now?”

Anders’ pencil strokes faltered for just a second.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said, taking a deep breath and refusing to meet the brunet’s gaze. “I told you that I have no idea where Lord Aldworth saw my work, didn’t I? Well, that’s not quite true. I used to actually have quite a reputation for portrait painting, I guess I still do, but my family are trying to put a stop to it.”

“Your family? Where are they? Why are they making you live here?”

“They threw me out.”

The lines on the drawing became more forceful.

“They threw me out because they found a drawing that I did of you. I based it on last time we met.”

“Anders, you barely saw me for more than a few minutes.”

“But I could still remember every detail. I loved that drawing and kept it hidden, but one day our maid went through my art cupboard and she showed it to my parents. They demanded to know who you were and why I was drawing you, and when I wouldn’t tell them, they told me they could already guess. Then they made me leave. I took my art supplies and barely anything else. I’ve been getting by so far with the people who believe I’m still credible, but I doubt that’ll last.”

Mitchell was stunned into silence. He couldn’t think of words which would comfort the blond as much as he wanted to, so he went to get up and cross the room to hug the other man instead.

“Don’t move!” Anders wouldn’t let him. “Don’t ruin the positioning.”

“But Anders…”

“Just let me finish this, it’ll calm me down.”

Mitchell relented and stayed in place.

“Is this why you didn’t want me to come here? You didn’t want anyone to see?”

“I was more ashamed of what has become of me, but I’ll admit that it did cross my mind.”

“So you thought painting me naked was a good alternative when I insisted?”

Anders looked across at the brunet.

“I needed something to remind me that you’re still _you_ ,” he said, “That you’re still the same as I remember, and that when you take all those fancy clothes off, we’re still the same: you and me.”

Mitchell couldn’t help getting up at that point, rising despite Anders’ cries of protest and crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to the top of the blond’s head.

“You and I both know that you did not need me to model for you,” he said with a smile, “We both know that you can draw me from memory.”

Anders grinned a little at that.

“So then,” Mitchell matched his grin and reached for the buttons on the other man’s jacket, “Why don’t you take your clothes off too?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part - the ending sort of went in a different direction to all of the others, I guess, but please still enjoy :)

It became a habit, the two of them sneaking away to Anders’ apartment after the day’s sitting and spending either the entire night or just the evening in each other’s company.

Mitchell’s parents had only asked a few questions about his whereabouts, but as long as he made it to the Aldworths’ house in good time for the sittings, then they weren’t overly concerned.

Anders and Mitchell, meanwhile, had begun to think about ways in which they could be together: first by calling off Mitchell’s impending wedding, and then running away.

“We’ll need money,” Anders said, “I’ll have my earnings from this commission once it is over, but not much more.”

“I can provide that,” Mitchell replied, “Leave the money to me.”

“And we’ll need to end the betrothal,” Anders pointed out, “It’s unfair to leave Emily hanging, she is your friend after all, and then the Aldworths wouldn’t be out looking for you.”

“But what would I say?”

“Tell Emily first,” Anders suggested, “You’ve always said that she’d understand, and then convince your father that you do not believe that you are responsible enough for this undertaking and you wish to wait. Or appeal to Emily’s father and claim that you would not make a good husband for her, no father wants a man he does not think he can trust to marry his daughter.”

In the end, Mitchell went for another option.

He waited until the painting was finished and Anders had received his payment before he told Emily that he was deeply in love with someone else and that he didn’t want to hurt her because of that. As he’d expected, she’d understood completely and told him that she thought of him as nothing more than a friend anyway, and that he could come to her for advice in the future if he ever needed. She then told him that she would handle her father for him, and that she would bring him news of what was said in a day’s time, and that they should meet in Kensington Gardens.

Next, he had to convince his parents.

He announced over a family dinner that he had informed Emily Aldworth already that he was in love with someone else and that he did not feel it was right for him to subject her to a marriage in that situation. He also said that she had accepted this and released him from their betrothal.

His father, as he had expected, was less than pleased.

“You cannot cease this betrothal without either mine or her father’s express permission, and I do not give mine!”

“I do not care what you do with your permission, father,” Mitchell said calmly, “Emily is speaking to her father on my behalf, and I doubt he will want to continue having his daughter betrothed to a man who does not want to marry her. She is to bring me news soon on his verdict, and I doubt it’ll be one you would like.”

And then he left the table, retiring to his room immediately. He would have gone to see Anders, but he realised that if he left the house now, his father would just have a man follow him, and that would not do them any good.

However, he had informed Anders that by that day, the betrothal would be ended and they should make plans to get away in the next few days, but had not been able to tell him that he would not be coming to see him until he had word from Emily. He just hoped that the blond would understand that it would take some time and would continue to wait for him.

* * *

Early the next morning found the brunet sitting on a bench in Kensington Gardens waiting for the sight of Emily Aldworth coming up the path towards him. It was especially misty and large looming shadows kept appearing out of the mist on either side of him, while other moments let him see across the gardens with ease.

After nearly twenty minutes, he finally caught sight of Emily hurrying towards him, the strings of her bonnet flying out behind her as she tried to avoid crashing into the other people on the path.

“I spoke to him,” she cried as she finally reached him, “I spoke to my father and he has released you from your betrothal. He even said that it was acceptable for the two of us to remain friends and that you’re welcome to come by our house any time, he even plans to keep that portrait of us! John, I’m so happy that he was so understanding!”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, laughing brightly.

“Really?” Mitchell was mildly taken by surprise by the news, “I thought he’d be so angry.”

“Not at all,” Emily shook her head, “He’s very much in love with Mother, you see, and he said that it’s best to marry someone you love. He even apologised for not seeing sooner that we were merely friends.”

Mitchell could think of nothing else to do but thank her profusely. He’d only met Lord Aldworth a handful of times at formal events, and had assumed that he was a man very much like his own father, but clearly he had misjudged him entirely.

Emily reached up and patted his arm gently.

“Now,” she said, “Go and spend some time with whoever it is that you love, but make sure that you do come round for dinner sometime, we would all like to see you.”

Mitchell grinned widely.

“Of course,” he said, “I will definitely have to accept that invitation at some point. But now, there is someone very important that I have to go see.”

He went to hug Emily one last time before a shout interrupted the two of them.

“John! John!”

* * *

Anders could not bear it any longer. He had to go out and clear his head, perhaps even gather up the courage to hang around near where he was sure that Mitchell lived in the hope that the brunet might come out and see him. He had not heard from the other man in nearly two days, despite promising that he would come and tell him what had happened the evening that the rest of Mitchell’s family were told about his decision.

He chose Kensington Gardens on a whim, his decision only partly influenced by the fact that Mitchell had once said that he enjoyed going there when he needed time alone. He considered taking his art supplies with him and drawing some of the sights, but in the past few weeks he’d solely done paintings of Mitchell and he didn’t feel any inspiration to draw anything else.

He’d been wandering for a good ten minutes before the mist seemed to lift before his eyes in the same way it had been doing regularly throughout the morning and he was able to admire the scenery in front of him.

But as soon as he turned, he caught sight of something which made his blood run cold.

In front of him, seemingly locked in each other’s embrace, were Mitchell and Emily Aldworth.

Anders panicked. He was sure that Mitchell would have never lied to him, for he knew that they did really love each other, but what if this Mitchell had chosen the easy option? Marry the girl, keep his parents happy, and only sneak away to see Anders when he could so that no one would know.

There was a rational part of his mind screaming at him that there was no possible way for Mitchell to fall in love with someone else or even contemplate leaving Anders like that. But Mitchell had already broken his promise of coming to see the blond the previous evening, and Anders’ fear of being left alone after even his parents had deserted him kept pushing itself to the forefront. He saw it as just another confirmation of how he’d felt for a while: that everyone would leave him eventually.

Mitchell and Emily were still embracing when his mind finally kicked into gear and he yelled across at them to gain their attention.

“John! John!”

His blood racing, he ran across the grass towards them, ignoring the shocked murmurs from the crowds around him.

Mitchell turned at the cry of his name, his face quickly contorting into horror.

Anders felt as though his fears had been confirmed. Mitchell did not want to see him; he had not planned to tell Anders about this.

“Anders!” Mitchell cried suddenly, letting go of Emily and starting a stumbling run across the grass towards him, one hand tangling in his curls with seeming desperation. “Anders! Stop! Look!”

Anders frowned in confusion at that but did not stop running; he had to have an explanation from the brunet.

But wait. Why was he being told to look?

And that’s when something fierce collided with his side, heat and pain blossoming as he was thrown several feet into the air, landing in a crumpled heap on the grass.

Somewhere to the side, he heard Mitchell scream his name. He tried to twist to face him but stars erupted in front of his eyes and then everything went black.

* * *

Mitchell threw himself down on the ground by the blond’s side, ignoring the horrified shouts of the carriage driver who had pulled his horses to a stop as soon as he’d collided with the blond.

“What do I do?” the man kept asking repeatedly, wringing his hands as the occupants of his carriage peered out nervously.

Finally, Mitchell answered him.

“Fetch help!” he practically snarled, “Fetch a doctor! And hurry about it!”

The man jumped at his tone before disappearing.

“Anders?” Mitchell turned back to the man on the floor in front of him. “Anders, can you hear me?”

It took several more moments for the blond to stir again, tears falling from the brunet’s eyes when he found that familiar bright blue gazing up at him.

“Anders,” he sobbed, not caring who saw him, “You idiot. Why did you run over here like that?”

Anders gave him a questioning look.

“I saw you,” he said slowly, “With Miss Aldworth. You looked so happy, John. I thought maybe you’d decided to leave me.”

“Leave you? Why would I ever do that?”

“It’s what everyone does. I thought you were different.”

“Anders, I promise to you that I will never leave. Not now, not next time nor any time after. You know that it is not in either of our natures to love anyone else. I love you, Anders, only ever you.”

“But you didn’t come and see me last night like you promised.”

“I couldn’t. My father would have had someone follow me and I couldn’t risk that.”

“Then why are you here this morning?”

“Emily came to tell me that her father has released me from the betrothal. I’m free now. We can be together.”

Anders smiled weakly, raising one hand shakily to Mitchell’s jaw.

“Always so optimistic,” he said.

“You said that last time,” Mitchell replied, “And I did try. For you. And right now, you just need to hold on for a bit longer. They’re fetching you a doctor right now.”

“And like last time,” Anders carried on, “It’s too late for doctor. There’s nothing anyone can do for me now. Just, stay, please.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” Mitchell said firmly, “I’m not going anywhere. Please, Anders, just hold on a little bit longer so we can get you somewhere comfortable at least. I…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

At that moment, a shadow was cast across the two of them, and when Mitchell looked up, he found Emily standing in front of them. Her back was turned to give them privacy, and the width of her skirts hid them from public view.

Certain now that no one else could see them, Mitchell leaned forward, tucking Anders’ hands into his as he did so, and softly kissed the other man.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” the blond promised.

Mitchell smiled through his tears.

“I know,” he replied.

* * *

Emily forced him to go home with her that night, declaring that he was in no state to be alone with his family and that her own family would be able to give him a room and food for as long as he needed. He’d cried on her shoulder for several hours after the incident, having refused to be separated from Anders, even though the undertakers had come to remove his body and also had to remove him from their premises too.

Lord Aldworth had been told a shortened version of events and agreed almost immediately to pay for the blond’s funeral, as well as instructing the servants to put the portrait of Mitchell and Emily up as soon as possible in Anders’ memory.

“A fine young man,” he kept saying, “And a fine painter too.”

Mitchell was given his own room in their house, which he seldom left, save for meals. It took nearly a fortnight for Emily to persuade him to accompany her on a walk by the river, claiming that he needed the fresh air to regain his strength.

“I take it that Mr Johnson was the person you were in love with,” was the first thing she said as they made their way towards London Bridge.

Mitchell nodded wordlessly.

“I don’t judge you for it,” Emily continued, “I was surprised at first, but when I saw how much you two cared for each other, well, I could hardly say anything against a love like that. And anyway, I know far too much about love which is forbidden.”

“You do?” Mitchell raised his head in surprise. “I thought your father believed in marrying for love?”

“He does,” Emily said, “But there was a terrible misunderstanding and the man I loved was believed to be a murderer for a very long time. His sister was killed, you see, and everyone had thought that he’d done it just because they’d been seen arguing on the same day.”

“What happened?”

“They locked him up for months on end, before finally realising that he wasn’t guilty. Some other man confessed, having been driven half mad by the guilt. I thought then that it would be alright, he was not of my family’s social standing, he was a labouring man, but I thought my father might understand anyway. I have a younger sister on whom the family hopes could have been pinned. But my parents had been scared by the incident. They were afraid for my safety and so we moved to London.”

“And where is this man now?”

“Still where he has always been, working on my elderly aunt’s estate,” Emily explained, “I have not heard from him in over a year but I still think of him every day.”

“I knew that you did not love me either,” Mitchell said in return, “Now, I understand why.”

“We’re very much alike, I think, John. That’s why I agreed to our marriage originally. I thought marrying you was a better alternative than marrying someone who wouldn’t understand.”

At that moment, she leaned forward over the edge of the bridge, the ties of her bonnet coming undone in the wind as she did so.

Mitchell stood frozen beside her, his eyes no longer seeing what was really in front of him.

Emily turned to look at him, her fingers trying to hold her bonnet in place, but failing as the wind took it from her grasp.

“Do you see him?” Mitchell whispered suddenly, and Emily turned to look at where his gaze was fixed. “He’s beckoning to me.”

And with that, he leaned out with one arm outstretched, looking for all the world as though he was reaching to catch the bonnet as it flew away.

Emily screamed.

* * *

They never found the body, but Emily maintained until the end of her life that she had not expected them to. The connection she’d witnessed between the two men seemed to be otherworldly and Mitchell’s death to her meant that somehow he’d gone to wherever Anders was; he had not wanted to be found, and the police dredging the river certainly weren’t going to do that.

In light of all of the shocks she had suffered, her parents finally relented and put her in a carriage heading north to her aunt’s estate within a week, where she found the man she loved still waiting for her.

She lived, miraculously, to the grand old age of 101, spending her last few days surrounded by the care of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

“Grandmother, there’s someone here to see you. They say that they knew you a long time ago.”

Emily looked up to find her youngest grandchild, Alice, peering around the door.

“Really, dear? I haven’t had a visitor apart from family in many years. Do send them in.”

Alice disappeared for a moment before pushing the door open and motioning for a young man in military uniform to come forward. The young man seemed awkward but confident at the same time as he came towards her.

Emily peered at him, his face was most definitely familiar.

“Emily Aldworth,” the man said suddenly, “We met a very long time ago. My name is John Mitchell.”

The accent was distinctly Irish but Emily finally recognised him.

“John?” her voice was full of confusion and wonderment. “John Mitchell? But you died. No, that can’t be right, are you a relative of his?”

“Not exactly,” Mitchell replied, “It’s complicated. But I heard you were still alive quite by chance and I wanted to visit you. I’m just about to go to France, actually.”

“Yes,” Emily mused, “This dreadful war.” She seemed to just accept that he was standing in front of her as though he’d never left. “Tell me, John, did you find him again?”

Mitchell smiled.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “And now I am going to find him again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any Anders/Mitchell prompts for me (either for this AU or for anything else) you can either leave them here or on Tumblr.
> 
> My URL is agodavampiretwoheirsofdurin - please come and say hi :)

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any Anders/Mitchell prompts for me (either for this AU or for anything else) you can either leave them here or on Tumblr.
> 
> My URL is agodavampiretwoheirsofdurin :)


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